


Little Lyarra Snow

by LemonyZest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Babies, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Jon Snow, I don't know what I'm doing, I expected nothing and was still disappointed, Idiots in Love, Instead everyone thinks Lya fucked a wolf, Jonmund, Tormund gets to have babies, Tormund thinks jon is a snow spirit, Tormund wants everyone to think he fucked a bear, White Walkers, bc that finale sucked, hell fucking yeah, no beta we die like men, please dont take me seriously, really jon is just a targaryen, this is essentially crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-03-08 15:58:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18897916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonyZest/pseuds/LemonyZest
Summary: Lyanna Stark gave birth to a daughter in the Tower of Joy, and Princess Visenya Targaryen was raised Little Lya Snow of Winterfell, bastard daughter of Eddard Stark.Caught in a wildling attack while visiting a nearby town with her brother and a few of her father's banner men, Lyarra is kidnapped and disappears.When she reappears at Castle Black several years later it is with a family and a mission.In which Jon is Lya and still ends up falling in love with a wildling, living and fighting with the free folk, and battling The Others.





	1. Meeting the In-Laws

Ned had not been expecting the reception he’d received at Castle Black. Lord Commander Mormont had led him and Robb to a room on the second floor and asked him inside.

“You can come find me when you’re ready, but best you lot have a moment to yourselves before we get to business.” He’d said.

Now Ned could only stare in awe at the woman that waited in front of him. She had been but a girl the last time he saw her, just a child of ten. Now she stood before him as a woman grown. Time made fools of all men he supposed. 

Little Lyarra Snow had grown up far away from Winterfell and Ned felt the familiar pulse of guilt at the thought. He’d promised Lyanna he’d protect her, and he’d failed spectacularly. 

She had filled out, though it was hard to see under all the layers, but she was unmistakably still very short. She was all but dwarfed by the behemoth of a wildling that hovered close to her. She had a ragged scar across one eye but a smile on her face as she looked at him. Her dark hair was pulled into multiple braids and ties with beads and bones from he didn’t want to know what sorts of things. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks flushed with life and he could swear she was glowing. Gone were the ill fitted dresses and stolen breaches of her youth. Instead she wore coarse and heavy furs with practical boots. 

She looked very much like a wildling.

Even for all her hair and clothing reflected her lifestyle from the past several years there was something in the way she held herself and squared her shoulders that Ned recognized in himself. She was still his daughter even if that was not all she was anymore. 

“Hello, Father.” She greeted him, dipping into a poorly executed curtsy. 

He heard Robb rasp out a breath of a laugh. Poor boy must have been holding it in without realizing. Ned smiles in turn.

“Hello, daughter.” He nodded to her and the next moment she’s surged forward into his chest and he’s holding her close.

It hit him hard just how much he’d missed her. His Little Lya. A woman grown now, but still very much his little girl. 

Something dark flashes across the face of the bulk of a man behind her. It was possessive and feral and Ned felt his hackles raising in response to it. He clutched her a bit more tightly, but the next moment she was pulling away, wiping escaped tears from her eyes.

Lyarra didn't seem to notice the sudden tension between this wildling man and her father and brother. Instead she stepped past Ned to stand on her toes and place a chaste kiss to Robb’s cheek. 

Ned didn't take his eyes off the wildling. 

Was this the man who had stolen her? Had he forced himself on her? Ned’s rage was only tempered by how brightly Lyarra spoke to him.

“I’m so glad you came, both of you.”

Ned tore his eyes away from the wildling to look at her, overwhelmed with joy. 

“Lya, when Lord Commander Mormont said he had to speak with father I didn’t realize it was because he’d found you.” Robb said. 

“Mormont couldn’t find a bug if it had crawled up his own arse.” The wildling’s voice was gruff and his tone laced with mockery. 

Lyarra turned quickly to shoot him a glare. “What Tormund means is that Lord Commander Mormont didn’t find us so much as we found him.” She said, still glaring rather openly. “I don’t think I’ve introduced you properly.”

She turned back to Ned, and somehow he could sense that he wasn’t going to like what came next. 

“This is my husband, Tormund Giantsbane.”

Ned vaguely registered Robb responding to that, but the resulting conflict and shouting was muffled. He felt like it was all happening very far away and couldn’t bring himself to make out the words clearly. 

His Little Lya had married a wildling.


	2. Your Typical Romantic Comedy Meet-Cute

Robb had loved Lyarra his whole life. Ever since before he could remember. It came as naturally to him as breathing. As naturally as wanting to make Father proud or to please his mother or make his sisters smile. 

The day she’d been taken had been the worst day of his life. 

Robb and Lya had already celebrated their tenth namedays and Robb had insisted that he was old enough to help Father with some of his duties as his heir. Lord Stark had agreed to let him collect taxes from one of the nearby villages, accompanied by several of Ned’s own banner men and their sons of course. 

It had been exciting. The work itself was dull, but the responsibility and importance of it was thrilling and new. It wasn’t glamorous by an means, but Robb got to learn and meet new people. 

Lya had wanted to come along. Father hardly ever let her leave Winterfell, and she was a restless soul. It wasn’t in her nature to sit still.

The two had conspired to have her sneak out with the party. Naturally they were caught the moment they left the gates, but the men seemed more humored by it than anything else. 

“Father will be cross with you for letting me come. If I head back now I’ll be the only one to earn his ire. “ Lya had reasoned. She’d felt terribly guilty for dragging them all into her and Robb’s antics. 

“Send Ned Stark’s daughter back on her own? Nonsense. And if the whole party turned around we’d be late getting the work done. I’ll send word to your father so that he knows where you are. In return you help us with our duties.” Lord Karstark laughed.

She wanted to argue with him because Lord Stark would be furious. Rightfully so, she thought. Her and Robb always hatched the most ridiculous plans. There was no way they wouldn’t have been caught when she thought about it. 

Besides it wasn’t like Lya had anything to learn about being a lord or collecting taxes or any of that. People wouldn’t want to meet her the way they would want to meet Robb. He was the heir of Winterfell and she was just Ned Stark’s bastard daughter. 

But she did desperately want to go. 

Besides who was she to argue with a Lord? Father would be horribly angry, but Lord Karstark was giving her permission, and that was simply far too tempting for a girl of ten who’d never been past the wood around Winter Town. 

So along she went with Robb and the other men.

The work was horribly dull, more than she or Robb had anticipated, but the most irritating part of the journey by far was the fact that all their father’s men seemed to expect her to do the cooking and cleaning along the road. 

One had even had the nerve to ask her to mend a tunic and been cross when she did poorly.

“It’s uglier than it was with the hole!” Lord Karstark laughed.

“Shut up and wear it. She did warn you she couldn’t stitch, and now you have your proof.” Another man snapped. 

Her face burned red with the embarrassment. Sansa was only eight but she was a far more competent seamstress than Lya. 

In spite of the entitlement of the men Lya was actually enjoying the journey quite a bit. Her father would be cross, so she had to soak up all the good she could from this experience to make sure it was worth it. 

The North was vast and beautiful and she wanted to see all of it. From The Wall down to the Riverlands and from East watch by the Sea to White Harbor. She wanted to see all of it, to cross every stream, take every road, climb every tree. This was her family’s home; not just Winterfell but all of the North was the Starks’. 

But I am not a Stark, she thought. 

Name or not, she had Stark blood. She was of the North. Nothing would ever change that. The North was where she belonged and always would be. 

Robb and Father and even little Arya who was only six, all insisted she was their family so it had to be true.

When they reached the last village along their route Lya was amazed to see it was little more than a small band of farmers and their families The only stone structure to be seen was the windmill in the center. It felt quaint and welcoming in a way the other, larger town had not. None of the people here seemed to mind that she was a bastard, and Lya was warmed by it. They were all polite and called her ‘my lady’ even after she told them she was not, in fact, a lady. 

She gushed to Robb about how lovely it was. “Do you think Father would let me marry a farmer or a miller? Someone out in the country like this?”

Robb only stared at her with a blank look. 

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling very foolish. 

“I know Father probably would rather I marry someone from the household and have me live at Winterfell. I just thought- well- Lady Catelyn would probably love to not have to see my face anymore.” She tried to make her tone light, but Robb continued to stare at her like she’d turned into a giant.

“Forget Mother. Why in seven hells would you want to live all the way out here?!” He snapped. 

Robb’s mind was a whirlwind. Lya would stay in Winterfell. She would stay with him. She would raise his children and help his wife run their household. Lya and him were going to stay together. He’d never even considered a future where she would leave Winterfell, marriage or not.

“I- I just thought-” She fumbled with her words, taken aback by how angry Robb seemed by the prospect. “It’s so open and- and..” Her words died in her throat as she fought back tears. She didn’t want to cry in front of Robb. They weren’t children anymore, or at least woldn’t be for much longer. Instead she swallowed the sob that had been building in her throat and left the tent and a fuming Robb behind. 

Why did she like it so much there? Was it because the people were kind? She wasn’t sure. She just knew that she felt at peace under the open blue sky, surrounded by little else but the North in all of its raw glory.

She laid down in one of the fields on the edge of the little village and stared up at the wisps of clouds that drifted over her. She laid there for hours until one of the clouds passed in front of the sun and cast a long shadow over her, stealing away the sun’s heat in an instant. 

She rolled onto her side to curl in on herself for warmth. Several minutes passed and she heard a commotion toward the heart of the village.

She turned her head toward it, thinking of the banner men’s inclinations to drink and wondered if one of them had gone after a farmer’s daughter. 

Then she heard the metallic clash of swords. She’d never heard it anywhere but the training ground in Winterfell, but she recognized it all the same.

Lya sprung to her feet in a moment, cursing that she didn’t have any weapons of her own. Ser Rodrick had given her a knife for her name day but it was back in her tent. 

“Robb!” She called. Lya turned away from the sudden sound of shouting and screaming, intent to run back to her tent and retrieve a weapon. If not her knife, she’d have to find something else along the way. 

She took about two steps before crashing abruptly into what she first thought to be a wall. She fell back onto her hands and rear and peered up at the form in front of her.

Not a wall at all, but a man. A wildling man. He was broad and tall and had wide, wild blue eyes and red hair. Her first thought was that they were very Tully colors for a wildling, but the blue of his eyes wasn’t the sky blue of Robb’s or Sansa’s eyes. It was brighter and clearer, more like ice than anything else. His hair was an unkempt mane that surrounded his face and covered half of it with an equally red and equally unkempt beard. He bared his teeth and opened his mouth to speak but Lya never heard him over her own screams. 

The last memory Robb had of his sister was the red hot fury on her face during their squabble earlier that day and the sound of her scream while Lord Karstark held Robb to his side with a grip of steel to keep him safe from the wildling attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright since this got such positive feedback so quickly here's a little bit more of it!  
> Lya and Tormund had a very interesting meet-cute......
> 
> Let me know if you like it! I probably won't have time to write anymore until Wednesday or maybe Friday, but I  
> 'd be happy to write more as long as people are enjoying my nonsense. 
> 
> Sorry if everyone's super out of character???? Not sure how to write these guys yet, since I've never done GoT fics before and I'm really just cranking this out rather than really thinking it through.....


	3. A Girl Called Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lya thinks about her situation

Tormund wasn’t entirely sure why he’d taken the Snow girl in the first place. She’d been interesting enough, but she was far from being worth the trouble of having dragged her as far as he had. As for why he’d kept her this long, well that was to do with the fact that he was a stubborn bastard who wasn’t willing to admit defeat to a girl of ten. 

She’d clawed and bitten and howled, but Tormund had only held her that much tighter for her efforts. She was a savage little thing, and he thought she’d do well in the North. 

She’d shouted insults and roared for the whole of the previous days until hunger had set in, quieting her. Tormund handed her a piece of rabbit from what was being passed around the fire.  
It was their first interaction where she wasn’t screaming or sleeping. She was usually one of the two in Tormund’s experience. 

“So, what do we call you?” Tormund asked, studying her face. She was a slight wisp of a girl. She was pale, but healthy and had dark hair and dark eyes to match. She was a beautiful child.

“Snow.”

Tormund and two other men around the fire snorted and laughed. 

“That’s what bastards from the North are called.” She explained. 

“You’re not from the North, girl.” Ashtor spat.

“I am! I’m of the North, and Snow is the only name I have to give you.” She said. 

“Than the girl is Snow.” Tormund huffed. It wasn’t much of a name, but it was better than calling her ‘girl’. 

Her eyes drifted down to rest on the fire crackling in front of them. She chewed the rabbit slowly and listened to the wildlings bicker and joke. The sound of it was jovial and familiar. 

If she closed her eyes and tried she could almost pretend she was back at Winterfell in the great hall. That the men arguing were her father's drunken bannermen, and the meat in her mouth was from something prepared in the kitchens. 

The bite of the cold air on her skin was enough to ruin that. 

She missed Winterfell. She missed Robb and Father. She missed her little sisters and brothers. She missed Ser Rodrick and Hodor and Maester Luwin. She missed her home. 

Lyarra knew she couldn’t tell these people her name. Or at least not her father’s name. If they knew she was from a noble family, that she had Stark blood, what would they do to her? Wildlings were savage beasts of men. That’s what Old Nan always said. 

So Snow was all she would be to them. 

The big one, Tormund, had been the one to hoist her up over his shoulder and make off with her. He hadn’t done much else though. He was crass and loud, but hadn’t tried to force himself on her or let any of the other men do so. She should be grateful for small mercies she supposed. 

That didn’t mean she could stay. She had to escape. Tormund was clearly stronger than her, so she’d have to slip away and run away before he could do anything about it.

She didn’t even know where they were going, only that it was further North than where they had been. 

One of the men, Ashtor she thought, made a joke about her being a bit young to be a broodmare and Lya choked on the meat.

Tormund tossed a rock the size of her head in the man’s direction and it only narrowly missed him. They glared at each other a moment before Ashtor started laughing.

Tormund pushed a leather pouch into her arm that she took hastily, opening it and drinking the contents. She nearly gagged on the drink. Strong and foul as it was she forced it down, if only to chase her dinner down. She dropped her gaze to her lap. Her cheeks felt hot and there were tears prickling at her eyes. 

This was horrible. Were they just waiting to have their way with her? Where were they taking her?

Tormund leaned over to her, his beard tickling her ear. “You ignore that one. He’s not worth the food it takes to keep him living.” 

She turned her head to the left to stare at him with wide eyes. 

He nodded at her, blue eyes piercing through her, and the scent of that foul drink coming from his mouth. 

“I took you so I decide what’s done with you, and if he or anyone else tries a thing I’ll cut their cocks off.” 

She nodded dumbly at him before returning her attention to her lap and her meager dinner. She hadn’t eaten since they’d taken her. Which was her own fault. She’d refused food at every opportunity, but now she was terribly hungry. 

She ate the rest quickly, even taking another drink of the foul concoction while ignoring the sound of Tormund laughing from the seat beside her. She had to make a plan if she was ever going to see Winterfell and her family again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. Okay. So here's a little bit more. I'm thinking it's going to be several years (in story) before they actually start seeing each other romantically (bc Lya is TEN) but yeah. I'm starting here. 
> 
> And no I have no idea why Tormund took her. He seems like a pretty impulsive guy so I think it just struck his fancy.  
> Let me know if you have any ideas or scenarios you would like to see.


	4. A Girl, a Child, a Ghost, or a Winter Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tormund contemplates on if Snow is a girl or a nymph.

Lya gaped at the structure in front of her. They were still many miles away, but there, standing tall above the trees, was The Wall. She’d heard stories from Uncle Benjen about how tall it was, but she’d always thought he was exaggerating for the sake of her younger siblings. 

“We’re going to climb that.” Tormund said from behind her.

Her mouth fell open. He had to be kidding.

“You’re welcome to try, but I’m quite happy breathing.”

Tormund’s answer was a hearty laugh from his belly.

“Don’t worry, little Snow, I'll catch you if you fall. It’ll be easy as you weigh less than my dinner.” He jested. 

At that her head whipped around so fast he thought it might fall from her shoulders.

“Are you laughing at me?” She snapped.

“Aye, little Snow. I’m laughing at you.” He said. 

She stomped away from him with burning cheeks, and Tormund laughed louder. Snow never ceased to entertain him.

She’d tried to run off multiple times in the night. She was small, but easy to track. She’d clearly never been taught how to move about without leaving a trail and lacked the knowledge to use her size to her advantage. He always caught her quickly and easily. 

Every time he did he laughed and she screamed and tried to claw his eyes out. 

It was good fun for him. 

The group was settling down for the night, but The Wall was visible now, and they’d be reaching it soon. If he was going to let her go, now would be the time. 

Tormund wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving her behind to fend for herself though. She knew how to make traps for game and how to start a fire, but little else that would aid her in surviving in a place with which she was unfamiliar. And she was unfamiliar. She had clearly never seen The Wall before, not even from the distance they were at now. 

She’d said she was a bastard, and that bastards were their father’s shame. She’d be happier in the True North. No one would care who her father had fucked or how she was born. She was a quick learner and had more bite than bark in her. She’d do well among the free folk. She could make a place for herself among them. 

And Tormund could admit his motivations weren't altogether unselfish. He’d grown rather attached to the Snow maid.

She was full of life and fire, but there was a somberness in her heart. Her spirit belonged to the Old Gods, and her her soul belonged in the North. 

He liked the way she sung quietly while doing little tasks or twirled through the trees as if they were dance partners to a song only she knew the tune of. Her voice was sweet, even only just above a whisper. 

He liked the her dark hair that billowed around her like a cloud of smoke and her gray eyes that caught the light and seemed to shine like the moon. 

Mahor had said she was a Child of the Forest sent to tempt them into the woods to pay the Old Gods for their sins. Tormund told him he was a damned fool, and that she was warm to the touch, that she was a flesh and blood child, and not a spirit sent to curse them.

Still. She had a bewitching way about her. There was a grace to her movements and a pride in the way she walked and talked. 

Tormund wondered if she wasn’t some sort of fancy lady from a castle. She struck him like a princess, and he could picture her in a crown of winter roses. She’d look beautiful in a crown. 

Tormund watched her make her way across their camp to where Verin was preparing a hare for supper. Snow knelt down beside him and watched him work attentively. After a few minutes she picked up one of the other kills and set to work. 

He’d have to make sure she didn’t stow away the knife to stab him in his sleep later. 

She did end up stabbing him, but frankly the face she made when all he did was blink at her was well worth the pain from the toothpick of a knife she’d used. 

Wide gray eyes and her mouth in a little ‘o’, panic creeping into her expression more and more with every passing moment.

It was hilarious. He picked her up with one hand and pulled the knife out with his other, laughing all the while.

At the sound he was making all of the other wildling in their group sat up from where they’d been sleeping. Some laughed, others simply complained that he ought to shut his mouth and let the rest of them sleep. It wasn’t their fault Tormund had decided to abduct a murderous tree spirit. 

He waved her around like a doll in front of the other wildlings while he cackled.

“The little bitch actually stabbed me!” He shouted.

Lya’s mind was spinning faster than she was. Why was this funny? He shouldn’t be laughing he should be dead. This was the opposite of what she’d wanted. Now all the wildlings were looking at her and there was no way she would get away before they reached The Wall. Maybe she should have slit his throat instead of stabbing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant for this chapter to be them climbing the wall, but I wanted Lya to stab him. So, uh, they'll climb the wall next chapter, yeah?


	5. The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lya climbs a wall.

The Wall was impossibly tall from far away and yet somehow less believable now that she was looking at it up close. 

Wildlings were either fearless or recklessly suicidal. The two might not be mutually exclusive though. 

“You’ve really climbed this before?” She asked. She winced at way her voice wavered. 

“Oh, aye. I’ve done it a dozen times at least, but others here have gone up and down a half hundred times before.” Tormund said without looking up from the length of rope he was tying. 

Lya gulped and tried to tell herself that if these people could do it so could she. She’d always been the best at climbing among her siblings though little Bran was quickly catching up to her. If she fell they even had ropes so that she would not plummet to the jagged bottom. 

That didn’t mean she wouldn’t break her neck or that they wouldn’t cut her loose just to watch her fall. 

She wished Robb were here. He’d be excited by the challenge and would tease her for her hesitation. 

Alas Robb was probably back home being coddled by Lady Catelyn after Father scolded him for letting Lya come along on his trip in the first place. 

She wondered if Father would send men to look for her. He did love her, but she was only a bastard next to his five trueborn children. Others would not think her worth the trouble. 

She hoped they missed her at least. Lady Catelyn would not, but Robb and Sansa and all the rest of their little siblings might. 

She and Sansa had been working on a gift for Father together. Sansa had been embroidering a leather strap Lya had fashioned from one of her game traps in the Godswood. She wondered if Sansa would finish it and gift it to Father without her. 

At this point she was even starting to miss Theon and what a sad thought that was. She actually missed the squid. She wouldn’t have thought that possible before. 

Tormund had said he was taking her to the True North, the lands beyond the Wall. Lya had been too afraid to ask why. 

She didn’t think he would hurt her. After all if the worst he’d do after she attempted murder was to laugh at her she didn’t think she had much to fear at all from Tormund. 

That didn’t mean she trusted him. She also knew the other wildlings with them were not so fond of her nor would they be as tolerant if she became a hindrance. Escape seemed like a distant and unreachable dream at this point. She would have to put all her effort into surviving.

So long as she survived there was hope that she’d see her family again. 

Uncle Benjen was a ranger in the Night’s Watch. He could find her even beyond the wall and bring her home. But she had to live long enough to even hope for that. 

The task before her was to climb The Wall. It was the largest structure ever built by men. 

If men could build it then she could climb it. 

Tormund tied a rope around her waist before tying another around his own and thoroughly showed her the knots involved. 

“Tying a good knot could be the difference between life and death on the climb, so make sure you get it right.” He told her sternly. 

It was odd. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so serious before, but she supposed he had to be more that a laughing idiot to command the sort of respect he did among the other wildlings. 

And they did respect him. She noticed it now that she was paying attention to the dynamics of the group. There wasn’t exactly a leader, but two or three who gave orders and generally seemed to make decisions in the group. The others would then follow their lead. Tormund was one of them. 

She also noticed they called him Giantsbane. There had to be a story there. She’d ask to hear it if she lived to see the other side of the Wall. 

For now she would do as he told her and focus on perfecting her knots. It was clear he’d show her how to do it, but would not be doing it for her once they started their ascent. 

Starting the climb made Lya feel like a small child who hadn’t learned to walk yet. She slipped and lost her footing often, and her arms shook with the weight of pulling herself up. 

The climb was a hell of its own. She was frustrated more so that everyone else seemed to be doing better than her, or at least made it look like they knew what they were doing. She supposed they’d each made this climb at least once before to get from the north side of The Wall to this side. 

Still she had to move forward. She could not consider what falling might mean. Up was the only way to go. 

There was no turning back.

The thought sank like a rock to the bottom of her stomach. She shook her head and continued the climb, focusing intently on the spot of red that she knew to be Tormund above her. She could step where he stepped, climb what he climbed. She could make it to the top of this wall.   
Lyarra stubbornly refused to acknowledge the growing sense of vertigo as well as how light headed she was rapidly becoming. She struck her pick into the ice again and went to pull herself up when a chunk of the wall came free and Lya’s pick with it.

The next moment she was falling. Wind whipped her hair in her face and for a moment she could not tell which direction she was falling in. 

Before Lya could even process enough to be afraid she stopped. The rope around her waist held her up, digging through her thin clothes. Her weight carried her back to the rough wall and she crashed into it with her shoulder and let out a wail at the sudden burst of pain that accompanied the impact. 

Her hands flew to the rope holding her up so quickly she nearly dropped her picks altogether. 

She was alive. She blinked up along the height of The Wall to see Tormund holding fast to her the length of rope that lead to her waist. He was grinning wide, and Lya wanted to punch him. 

“Looks like your knot’s holding!” He called down. She could only barely make out the sound over the distance and the wind between them.

Lya frowned before setting about trying to right herself and regain her hold on the wall to start climbing again. She’d just lost an hour’s of work at least. 

Somehow the sound of Tormund’s laughter only made her want to climb faster.

If she could catch up to him maybe she could shove him off the edge and see how he liked falling. 

When she finally, breathlessly reached the top Tormund was waiting with an outstretched hand. 

Ordinarily she would have smacked it aside. She didn’t like the smug look on his face either. But Lya was more exhausted than she had ever been in her life, and far more sore as well, so she took his hand and let him hoist her up over the edge. Lya splayed out and stared at the sky. The stars looked so much closer, but still so far away. She closed her eyes against the growing headache and tried to even out her breathing. Slow, steady breaths. 

Lyarra’s eyes fluttered open once her heart stopped trying to escape her chest. Her ears were numb and her fingers, too. Her face was red and her breath fogged in front of her eyes. Every inch of her was sore in ways both familiar and new. She stretched out and sighed at the fleeting relief the motion gave her. 

She’d done it. Lyarra Snow had climbed the bloody Wall. 

Abruptly she sat up, moving quickly enough that her vision went dark briefly, but she kept moving anyway. Her sight cleared by the time she took a couple of steps.

She heard Tormund speak from behind her. “Careful, little Snow. It’s a long way down, and I won’t be catching you again.”

Lya ignored him and stumbled forward back to the edge to stare out. What a sight it was; Trees stretching far back further than Lya could even see and large swathes of green and blue where fields and lakes were. She thought maybe she could see the whole world from up here. 

The wind slapped against her face and Lya stumbled for a moment nearly losing her balance.

Tormund moved forward to catch her but she steadied herself quickly, and he halted just a few steps away from her.

Lya sucked in a deep breath of the frigid air until her lungs were burning with it before screaming. “I’m the queen of the world!!!” She laughed loudly before spinning back around on her heels to face the man who had dragged her this far.

A smile split her face in two and her eyes were sparkling like the stars had fallen into them. The sun was just beginning to rise in the distance painting her in rays of brilliant pinks and oranges. 

Tormund thought that was the first time he’d seen her smile, and what a smile it was. It had nearly stopped his heart for a moment. He quite liked it. 

“This view was worth the climb.” She told him. “I wish I could stay up here forever.”

Tormund chuckled. “Aye, Snow. Tis’ a pretty sight, but we can’t stay.”

“I could.” Lya said. Her gaze was fixed on the expanse of land before her, the colors of the rising sun reflecting in her eyes. “I could stay here as long as I wanted.”

Tormund supposed there was a certain truth to that. She could stay. WHo would stop her? She could stare out at the world until she grew old and blind.

“You could stay up here and watch the world long as you want, or you could come down and live in it.” Tormund said.

Lya looked at him thoughtfully. Then without a word she walked past him to look out at the other side of the wall. She took in the sight of the True North and let out a long sigh. 

“How long before we start the descent?” She asked. 

Tormund grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised! The wall climb! Next chapter will probably be them reaching the wildling encampment where Tormund lives. 
> 
> Please comment and let me know how you're liking it! They always mean the world to me!


	6. Winterfell without Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb returns to Winterfell and bonds with his mother.

Robb had thought when Lord Karstark dragged him kicking and screaming back to Winterfell that he would be greeted by his father and receive the worst scolding in his life for taking Lya along in the first place. 

Now he wished that had been the case. 

Jory had greeted them at the gate and Robb’s mother Catelyn had swept him up in her arms crying desperate tears and murmuring praises to the Gods that her son had returned to her. Lord Karstark and his men were taken to see Lord Stark, but Robb was told to stay behind. 

Lady Catelyn cooed over him for several more hours. The whole time the knot of dread and guilt in his stomach grew. If he could speak to his father maybe he could convince him to let him go look for her. It had been days already, but Lya was smart. She would get away from the wildlings and be looking for her way home. 

Eventually his mother left him and a warm plate of food was left on his bedside table. Robb ignored it despite the way his stomach protested. He didn’t want food or comfort. He wanted Lya back. 

Lady Catelyn checked in on him often, soothing and preening. 

She did not speak of Lyarra.

She ushered him out of his room the next day to break gos fast with his family.

Father was notably absent.

Bran frowned at him, looking remarkably like Father in the set of his brow. His little brother hugged him tight and said, “Welcome home.” Bran did not speak of Lyarra.

Arya kicked him in the shin and when he fell to one knee from the pain she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re alright.” She said. She did not speak of Lyarra.

Sansa offered him a stiff greeting. She hugged him, but did not squeeze, and excused herself immediately after. Her eyes were red rimmed and shiny. She did not speak of Lyarra.

Robb did not see his father for days that bled into weeks. He knew a search party had been sent out to search for Lya. When they returned it was without his sister. 

Winterfell without Lya didn’t feel like home. 

Robb resumed all of his usual responsibilities. He attended lesson and sword training, and everyone danced around the fact that Lya was not sitting next to him reading a book or trying to convince Ser Rodrick to let her spar. Bran did not complain about the fact that he had lost his climbing partner, and Sansa stayed silent. She hardly spoke to anyone, and certainly never to him. She did not say she blamed him or that she missed her big sister who would dance with her and sing songs to her. She did not need to say because Robb knew already. 

Perhaps no one should have been surprised that Arya was the first to break the self imposed silence on their missing family member. 

Arya had snuck out of her lessons with Septa Mordane again and Lady Catelyn had caught her just outside the training yard. It really just came down to unfortunate timing on Arya’s part. Robb paused in his training to watch them while Bran, who had been watching him, turned his attention to their mother and sister as well. 

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” 

“Anywhere else but that stitching lesson.” Arya answered. She had the gall to be glaring at their mother with all the intensity a girl of six could muster. 

“I think not.” Lady Catelyn reached for Arya’s arm, but Arya ducked under at the last moment and stepped to the side.

“You can’t make me! Lya didn’t go to her lessons!” Everyone in the courtyard froze. No one had said Lyarra’s name since Robb had gotten back. Anyone who hadn’t already been watching the interaction was paying attention now. 

It felt like a hundred people were holding their breath.

Robb could see the red of Sansa’s head in the window that Arya had just slipped out of.

“Lyarra,” Lady Catelyn started, stretching out the name like it were cursed; as if the mere speaking of it aloud could summon her back into the courtyard. It couldn’t, Robb knew. He would’ve said her name a million times already if that were all it took. “Was not a lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady, either!” Arya shrieked. “Then I could learn swords and climb trees!”

Lady Catelyn grimaced. “You are a lady. Whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t care! Maybe you’re why Lya left! I bet she let the wildlings take her just to get away from you! I want to be where Lya is!”

Robb didn’t have long enough to process all that Arya had said in her childish anger because the next moment the sound of a slap was resonating through the courtyard.

Everyone stared, wide eyed, at Lady Stark. The same lady who had never raised a hand to any of her children. The very same lady that had never even raised a hand to her husband’s bastard. 

Arya’s cheek was red and stung. She blinked up at her mother in disbelief. No one could blame her for they had not expected it either.

“Go to your room.” Lady Catelyn’s voice was quiet but seemed to echo in the silence the courtyard. Arya ran to her room.

Lady Catelyn turned and her blue eyes met Robb’s. The world around them quickly restarted, but the world between them remained frozen. 

Lady Catelyn broke her gaze away from his and swiftly exited the now bustling area. Robb dropped his practice sword to run after her. 

He did not know why he followed her. He did not understand what had happened just before with Arya.

He wanted to understand. He would understand. 

She lead him to the Godswood and sat on the fallen tree before the pond. Her hands folded themselves in her lap and she looked for once very at peace in this space of the Old Gods.

Robb stood dumbly at the edge of the clearing. Suddenly he was full of doubt and wanted to run away from her.

Instead he slowly walked forward across the clearing and sat beside his mother. He followed her gaze to the pond and stared at their rippled reflections in the water. 

They did not have answers to his questions.

HIs mother broke the silence between them. “I shouldn’t have struck her.”

At first Robb thought she’d meant Lyarra, but then he realized she was talking about Arya. 

“She was being disrespectful.” He found himself saying after a moment. It wasn’t his place to judge his mother’s punishments. It never had been. He could not tell her how to raise her children. He did not know how. 

“She was being a child.” Lady Catelyn sighed. “ I am sorry.”

Robb’s brows furrowed. She was sorry. She had a million things she could be sorry for so which exactly was the apology for? Because she had hit Arya? His silence seemed to convey his confusion as well as if he had voiced it himself.

“I know how precious she was to you. To all of you.” She told him. “I know how much you all must be hurting, and ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away.”

Robb looked at his mother quizzically, as if he were seeing her in an all new light. He felt anger flare up inside his chest.

“You ignored Lya, and she went away.” He said. His tone came out far more neutral than he felt. 

Grief fell over her face in a way Robb did not think he had ever seen before. “Yes. I ignored her, and she went away. Lyarra was not the problem though.” 

That was true. Lady Catelyn resented the girl for her bastardry. She hated the reminder of Lord Stark’s betrayal. How did that matter when she mistreated Lyarra all the same? It didn’t matter if the grudge was personal or perfunctory, only that Lya had not been loved or welcomed by the Lady Stark. 

“I should have been kinder to her, if only for the sake of my children.”

“I should not have brought her with me.” Robb said. It was a confession as much as his mother’s words had been. His feelings overwhelmed him. Now that he’d spoken the words all his emotions came rushing to the forefront, and he choked on a sob. “I miss her.”

Lady Catelyn wrapped her arms around her son and prayed to the Old Gods and the New that this sadness would not stalk him. 

‘Let him mourn, and let him move on.’ She prayed. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” She whispers in his ear, cradling her firstborn to her chest.

“It doesn’t matter.” He cried. He felt so terribly small and awful. He was dirty. He had betrayed Father’s trust and had hurt everyone else as well. No one spoke of Lyarra anymore in the same way that no one spoke of his Uncle Brandon or his Aunt Lyanna. “Everyone thinks she’s dead. Everyone’s given up.” 

Catelyn ran her fingers through his auburn curls and rubbed circles into his back with her other hand. She gently rocked them back and forth. 

“I’m so sorry. I know it hurts to lose people” She comforted.

Robbed shoved away from his mother almost violently. 

“I haven’t lost her! She’s alive! I know it! I would know if she were gone!” He screamed, fumbling clumsily to his feet. His face was wet and the cold air felt too different from his mother’s embrace. 

“Robb.” She said, some of that stern maternal tone edging into her voice. “I know you think that, but it is not true. I want to believe that if my sister Lysa passed I would feel it, but I know it is not the way of things.”

“Maybe not for you, but Lya’s not just my sister!” 

Robb wiped angrily at his face with his sleeves and tried to calm the torrent of grief and anger that threatened to cripple him. He did not see the way his mother looked at him.

It was her turn to stare at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. A look of realization and understanding crossed her face. Catelyn thought of Brandon, and a fresh wave of pity for her son coursed through her. 

She stood and moved forward to hold him again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She did not say anything else. She just held him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this went in a very different direction than I expected it to when I set out to write it. Let me know if you this it worked or not.
> 
> Also I kind of want to write the introspectives for the other Starks, too? Like I feel like I covered Rob and Lady Catelyn pretty well here, but Ned didn't even show up!   
> Is it obvious that Sansa and Lya were very close? I grew up in a big family and I know kids that are closer in age tend to hang out more when they're little. So like Lya obviously still loved and spent time with Arya, but a six year old and a ten year old are pretty far apart developmentally, so she probably bonded more with Sansa at this point in her life. Her and Arya are still very much alike though. 
> 
> Anywho! Comment! Let me know what you guys are thinking and what you want to see! Should I do more another chapter on WInterfell or do you guys want to get back to our wildling crew?


	7. Ghosts in the Crypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned reflects on the dead.

Lord Eddard Stark stared at the stone figure that stood before him. He often thought that if not for Lyarra he might forget what his sister had looked like. Her stone statue in the crypts held a poor resemblance. It failed to capture the life in her eyes. Lyanna had always been so very alive. She was overflowing with vigor and spirit. Solemness did not become her, and so the statue failed to remind him of his sister. Her nature could not be captured by a stone face made in her likeness upon death.

Lyarra looked remarkably like her mother. Even with Lyanna’s face Lyarra had often been more reminiscent of the Dragon Prince. She was like Lyanna in her passion but had always been drawn to the melancholy her father had seemed to favor. 

Still Ned stared at the statue. In the sadness upon its face he could not see Lyanna, but he could see a likeness to her daughter.

He feared he would forget them both regardless. 

He had promised to protect her, and he had failed. 

Lyarra was lost to him as her mother had been before her. 

Guilt twisted in his stomach. Catelyn had tried to beckon him to break his fast in his solar while their children ate in the Great Hall, but he refused. He could not eat. The emptiness of his belly gnawed at him but did not compare to the dull ache in his chest.

He had dreamt of Lyanna and Brandon last night. He had dreamt he was visiting Winterfell and his brother was welcoming him as Lord Stark. Lady Catelyn beamed at him from his brother’s arm. Children without faces ran around the courtyard. Brandon’s and Catelyn’s children. Ned dined with his brother and listened to Catelyn and him chatter about their children. The words echoed over each other, swelling into a cacophony of sound that Ned could not make out. 

Then all fell silent. The King was there. 

Ned smiled at the sight of him. Not the Mad King, but King Rhaegar. Lyanna wore a crown by his side and smiled brightly before rushing forward to hug her brothers. Lady Catelyn tried to scold her for the impropriety of it, but Brandon laughed so loudly it drowned out his wife’s protests. 

The King stepped forward to greet Ned and Brandon as family. Ser Arthur Dayne stood dutifully by his side. As they stepped away Ned could see a figure standing in the doorway behind him. 

Lyarra.

Her black hair was done up in a very Southron way, adorned with strands of jewels and pearls. She was radiant and beautiful.

Ned stepped forward to take his daughter in his arms only for Rhaegar to reappear by her side. She offered him her hand and he lead her forward to where Ned stood frozen.

Lyarra curtsied respectfully.

“My daughter, the Princess Visenya.” Rhaegar said.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Uncle.”

Lyarra looked up to him, smiling innocently. The world seemed to spin around them. Everyone started speaking at once then.

The echoing and overlapping of the voices of the dead grew deafening. He was surrounded by ghosts and suddenly they all converged on him, screaming.

“You promised!” Lya accused. 

“Liar!” Catelyn shouted. 

“You denied her!” Rhaegar yelled.

“You let her die!” Brandon said.

“Ned, you promised!” Lya wailed. 

“You let us die!” Brandon bellowed, shoving Ned to the ground. 

“You lied to me!” Lyarra cried. 

“You were supposed to protect her!” Lyanna screamed.

“The prince who was promised.” Rhaegar said, as the Prince who never was faded behind the ghosts drowning Ned. 

“Big brother, why?” Lyanna asked. 

“Princess!” The voice of Ser Arthur Dayne called desperately. 

“Who am I?” His daughter weeped. 

“You dishonor me!” Catelyn shrieked, her voice warping into something shrill and inhuman.

“Why didn’t you keep your promise?” Lya’s voice sobbed. He could not tell if it was the mother or the child. 

“Liar!”

“Liar!”

“LIAR!!”

The screaming faded as Ned reopened his eyes, but the ghost of Lya remained. She stared at him from a cold stone face. 

Ned’s brow was wet with perspiration despite the cool air of the crypts.

He breathed out slowly and and let his breath shudder and break.

He did not deserve to remember them. 

“She looked like her, didn’t she?”

Ned’s head snapped to the side quickly enough that it pained his neck.

There, at the end of the hall, stood a child of eight with auburn hair the color of the weirwood tree’s tears. His child.

‘“Sansa, what are you doing there?”

She looked down at her feet and pulled her cloak around her tighter. “I’m sorry. I know we’re not supposed to come down here.”

“It’s alright.” Ned tried to pull the corner of his lips up to smile but knew it came across as more of a grimace than anything else.

Sansa offered him a sweet smile of her own. It was a sad smile, but still sweet. 

“Father,” Sansa started. She faltered, and her gaze fell back to the ground. She doubted herself, but the next moment she straightened her back and looked up to meet his eyes. 

“Father, I was wondering. Will Lya have a place in the crypts?” 

The question knocked the wind from him. 

Ned scowled at the thought of what to do for Lyarra in death. 

“She is not a Stark.” He said. He could not meet her eyes. Sansa was very much her mother’s daughter, and her hot, accusatory glare was not something Ned could bare at the moment. 

“She is your daughter!” Sansa shouted, taking a step forward. 

It started Ned into looking back at her and Sansa seemed to suddenly remember herself, bowing her head in apology. Ned had never heard her raise her voice in anger before. Sansa was a sweet child. She had been prone to tantrums, as children were, but she had always been a reasonable and thoughtful child. 

Sansa prided herself on being the perfect lady her mother desired her to be. To raise her voice to her Lord Father was a great overstep. 

She felt her cheeks burn and her eyes sting. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was small as she squeezed her eyes tight and willed herself not to cry in front of her father. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Ned sighed.

He walked forward and clasped her shoulder firmly. Sansa looked up to him. 

Helpless tears streamed down her young face.

“She is my daughter.” Ned wiped the tears from her cheeks. “But her place is not here.”

Sansa let out a whimper before pressing herself into his chest. He held her tightly. 

He did not deserve her. He was not worthy of his children, his wife, or his title and the honor everyone thrust upon him. He was a liar. 

And no one but him would ever know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! My sister is visiting and my job is hectic so it's been weird. I probably need a new job.
> 
> Shitty jobs aside, I hope you guys like this chapter. It was really fun to write actually. I know it seems like I'm really dumping on poor Ned, but I swear I actually love him. 
> 
> AS usual let me know your thoughts and what you want to see/if you liked this chapter, etc... We should be back with the wildlings next chapter!


	8. Slow Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lya comes to a decision about Tormund.

Lya knew cold. She knew snow and wind and frost. She was of the North after all.

Now she was colder than she had ever been before. The wind was sharper, than any she had ever felt before. Her fingers were burning with the frost. This was the True North after all. 

She would absolutely never admit any of that to Tormund. The more violently she shivered the happier he seemed to become.

“You cold, Little Snow?” The teasing mockery in his voice seemed to be begging for her to stab him again. 

She glared at him as she trudged through snow drifts up to her thighs. She was not properly dressed for this and the snow had long since seeped into her clothes. Her face burned red from the chill. 

Tormund nudged her with his elbow as he bellowed. “And here I thought you said you were a Northern girl!” 

The force of his push sent her tipping over into the drift, sinking down into the snow. Several wildling burst into laughter as Lya tried to right herself and clamber back to her feet. Unfortunately the drift had collapsed on top of her, and the weight of the snow was now too heavy for her to lift her limbs out of it. 

She was stuck.

Tormund held out a hand to her, but Lya couldn’t take it even if she wanted to. 

She settled on glaring menacingly at him and mentally cursing him. 

Tormund shrugged with one shoulder before reaching into the snow. His hands quickly found her waist and the next moment she was being lifted up, snow falling off of her in clumps. 

“There! Free as a bird!” He chirped. Holding her up.

She shook visibly in the wind. Lya bit her lip to keep her teeth from chattering. 

Tormund lowered her to the ground, placing her back on her feet carefully so that she would not fall back into the drift. 

She stumbled regardless, and Tormund’s smile faltered, his hand hovering indecisively over her shoulder.

She smacked it away and moved to march forward only for her first footstep to sink several inches back into the snow and fall to her other knee. 

The wildlings’ jeering was a distant, grating sound in her ears. She wanted to cry.

Lya wanted nothing more but to curl up by a fire and cry until she had no tears left to shed. 

Tormund’s hand was irritatingly there again, open and inviting. 

She lifted her head to meet his gaze only to find he was not smiling. He was just waiting. Patiently waiting for her to take his hand.

And if only because it was the only thing to do, and she was very cold, she took his hand and let him help her through the deep drifts of snow to the windswept rocks where the rest of the wildling were impatiently waiting.

Most of their traveling companions passed the time as they kept moving by making lewd comments about her, so Lya leaned into the warmth of Tormund’s side as she tried to tune them out. Tormund was tall and broad which made him a convenient shield against the winds that whipped around them. Lya was certain if she didn’t hold fast to him as an anchor they would sweep her over the side of the mountain in an instant.

Tormund for his part had seemed to sober a bit, and Lya was grateful for the quiet companionship. His presence could even be called comforting if she didn’t know how annoying he was when she opened his mouth. 

They had passed the Wall several days earlier. Lya wasn’t sure how long it had been exactly. A long time, she thought. 

The days were long and tiring. They hardly ever stopped but to set up camp each night and to collect game from traps they had set on their way South. 

Lya for her part was usually struggling to keep pace with the rest of the group. As much as she disliked the company of the wildlings she knew with certainty that she would quickly be dead without them. This was their North, not hers. When breaks were taken she was made to help set up fire pits and skin meats. 

She’d never had to prepare her own food before, but she was quickly learning. Lya thought she’d have trouble sleeping, and chances were she would it it weren’t for how thoroughly exhausted she were by the end of every day. There was a near constant ache through her entire body that she was beginning to grow begrudgingly accustomed to. 

Though none of the wildlings save Tormund himself seemed to like her very much, a few of them at least seemed to respect her after she’d tried to stab Tormund that one night. A few more liked her better after she’d climbed the wall.

She assumed it was a bit like a rite of passage of some kind to them. 

Still. Most of the wildlings seemed to have a keen dislike of her and an even deeper distrust.

Lya thought that was rather unfair. They were the thieves and rapists and murderers after all. 

Although for as vulgar as they tended to be in everything from their speech to their living habits she hadn’t actually seen any killing or rape from them as of yet. There was lots of stealing though. Mostly from each other as far as she had seen, and it was seemingly always called out and almost always escalated into a brawl.

The wildlings had to get some sort of enjoyment out of it for them to pick fights with each other as often as they did. 

It wasn’t as though Lya hadn’t seen two men fight before, and she’d seen Robb and Theon go at each other plenty of times, but it was never quite with the tenacity with which the wildlings seemed to do all things. 

The thought of her Robb and Theon would get her thinking about Winterfell. She imagined Sansa and Lady Catelyn would be terribly offended by the brash behavior the men and women alike seemed to live by. 

Lya rather enjoyed watching the fights that broke out. There was something real and visceral in watching two people hold nothing back, and the wildlings never seemed to hold anything back. It was a rather admirable trait she thought. 

Lya was always holding herself back. She held in her words, her opinions, and her feelings all for fear of what would happen. The wildlings were fearless in their way of life. The said what they wanted to say and fought who and when they wanted to fight without qualms over who would think what. 

If she were to be honest with herself she was a little bit envious. 

How often would she have hit Theon or argued with Lady Catelyn if she hadn’t been afraid? Could she have worn a sword on her hip or played the harp as she longed to even if Father forbade it? 

She’d probably never see a proper harp again. 

She might never see her father again. 

Lya quickly turned her mind elsewhere. 

She missed her father and Winterfell, but dwelling on wants and what-ifs would only hinder her. 

Lya had to survive now. She had to live and hope that she would see them again. So she did as she was told and kept her lips tightly closed. No need to upset a wildling that was looking for a reason to pick a fight. 

It seemed most all of them, even those that very openly wanted to slit her throat, had enough respect for Tormund that they didn’t actually try. Apparently the fact that he’d picked her up and dragged her this far leant her a certain amount of leeway among the wildlings. 

She was glad for it. Though Lya couldn’t understand quite why Tormund of all people seemed to garner such respect, but if it kept her alive she’d use it. 

The least she could do was to stop trying to kill him. If she’d developed a habit of staying within earshot of the ginger man than that was obviously just for her own safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of meandering but Oh Well~   
> Essentially Lya's realized at this point that she needs to stick with Tormund if she's gonna make it. She doesn't really trust the other wildlings, but has developed a sort of reliance on him. Probably just because he keeps helping her whereas everybody else is pretty hostile.
> 
> Next chapter they should be reaching the wildling encampment! HURRAY! Character introductions! Ygritte maybe?? 
> 
> Let me know if there's anything or anyone y'all want to see! Comments are hugely loved and appreciated! Thanks for reading.


	9. A Song to Forget Your Worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lya frets over what will happen what they reach the wildling encampment but is distracted rather easily.

It was the night before they were meant to arrive at their destination. Many of the wildlings were in high spirits, chatting about reuniting with children or lovers as they drank. Lya felt uncertain. Traveling with the wildlings had been simple. She just had to keep out of their way and pull her own weight and they let her be. Once they reached the wildling encampment what would happen though? This was their home, and she was not a part of it. Whatever reason Tormunf might have had in taking her would surely become apparent, but he hadn’t even been paying attention to her at all since they’d made camp that night. He was sloching his drink about and slurring his words, boasting about some woman named Drysda. 

Lya frowned at the rabbit she was skinning absentmindedly. 

If Tormund had a woman waiting for him then why by all the Gods had he taken her? He had not mentioned this Drysda before.

Lya was honestly a bit fearful. If Tormund did not have need of her for some reason than did that mean he’d brought her to barter off to someone else? Was she to be a slave of some sort?

She remembered Ashtor’s comment about her being a broodmare from the start of their journey and paled. Surely that wasn’t it. 

She peered sideways at Tormund from her seat away from the fire where most of the men were gathered to share in the warmth there. 

Tormund had teased and mocked her but never been unkind. If he did not continue to care for her in the future what would become of her? Once they reached their destination would he let Ashtor or one of the others take her? 

Lya felt ill at the thought. No. She needed to stay with Tormund. He was the only reason she hadn’t been violated or killed yet. She did not like the idea of relying on him but knew he was the only reason she’d been kept safe so far. She did not fancy her prospects with the other wildlings. 

But what could she do? If Tormund had a woman waiting for him he obviously had no need of a girl who hadn’t even flowered yet. And if she were to guess by his words, it sounded that he already had children, too. What would he want her for?

She chewed her bottom lip. She couldn’t run. Not this far beyond the Wall. She’d starve or freeze or meet some other terrible end. 

She had no skills that the wildlings would value. SHe was decent with a sword, at least as good as Robb or Theon, but that wouldn’t buy her any favor among them. They would never put a blade in her hand anyway. She was gifted in reading and writing, or so Maester Luwin had always said, but that was of no use at all to the free folk. Their stories were passed by word of mouth not letters on parchment. She wasn’t very good at anything else. Her cooking and hunting skills consisted almost solely of what she had learned during the fortnight of travel since she had been taken, and she was only barely passable in her lessons with the Septa in sewing.

Loud drunken singing crashed through her thoughts and she glared at the circle around the fire. 

“You sound like a bunch of dying dogs!” She snapped, irritated that they had broken her train of thought. She had to of something useful or something terrible would happen to her.

Several wildlings burst into laughter at her outburst while other booed. 

Her cheeks turned pink. She hadn’t meant to yell at them.

“You don’t like our singin’, Lady Snow?” One of them jeered.

“Maybe she just don’t like the song!”

“Aye, might be the song or it could be that Maren sounds like a goat getting fucked!”

Lya shook her head at their drunk antics. 

“I’ll bet Lady Snow could sing us a proper Southron song!” One of them slurred. 

His suggestion was met with a round of cheers and Lya paled.

“Me? Sing?” She dropped her rabbit in haste to get away from Maren as he lumbered toward her only to crash into Tormund. She hadn’t even seen him get up from his seat. 

The ginger wildling wrapped his hands easily around her waist before dragging her over to the light of the fire. 

The men cheered and hooted, beckoning her for a song. 

She was caught between being angry and mortified. 

Lya opened her mouth to tell them all to fuck off before she froze. 

She was good at singing. It was the one thing she was better than anyone else at. Sansa and Bran used to beg her to sing to them. Even Lady Catelyn had praised her singing voice. Lya had sung constantly when she was younger. Right up until Lady Catelyn had suggested she learn an instrument. 

“The girl clearly has a gift for music.” She had said simply. 

Lya had learned to play many instruments very quickly, but she had taken to none as well or as immediately as she had the harp. 

Then Father walked in on her practicing one day and Lya was forbidden from playing music anymore. It was the reason he started letting her use a sword, even if only sparingly. 

For some reason her lord father would rather she sit in on Robb’s sword lessons than play music. She’d never understood it. 

Her father was not here though. 

“What song should I sing?” She asked the crowd around the firepit. 

They quieted, most of them blinking in shock at her willingness to go along. They all had become rather used to her stubborn abstinence. 

Her heart beat loudly in her chest in wake of the sudden silence but for the crackling of the fire at her back. 

Then men started shouting sings at her eagerly, arguing back and forth. 

Her ears caught one over the others. 

She wasn’t sure who said it, but she recognized the name of the song, and she knew the words. 

“I heard someone ask for Bael the Bard?” She asked, a smile growing on her face.

Everyone cheered before settling down. A moment later Lya decided it was quiet enough for her to begin.

She closed her eyes and sung softly and sweetly. She did not think of the irony in her singing the tale of a Stark daughter who had been kidnapped and become pregnant by a King beyond the Wall. She simply lost herself in the melody. Somehow, for some reason, she had always loved this song. She liked the daring King beyond the Wall and his choice to play on Brandon Stark’s gift of his most beautiful flower. She thought it was a rather clever play on words. 

When she finished she was met with complete silence like she had never heard in the company of so many people before. She opened her eyes to look around the fire.  
Her eye caught Tormund, staring at her like he’d just woken up from a deep dream. 

The dazed look on his face had her lips cracking into a grin in a moment despite her nervousness. 

That same second the other wildlings seemed to break free from their stupor and began hollering loudly and demanding another song. 

Lya laughed. 

She sang every song she knew and when she ran out the wildlings around the fire taught her new songs. She sang and danced and the wildlings joined her. For the first time since she’d been taken Lya completely forgot her worries and the fact that she was with wildlings instead of her family. 

Tormund watched her dance and laughed. When the fire burned down to embers and Snow curled up against a long in her exhaustion he tossed a fur over her shoulders to keep her warm. 

She never ceased to surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, I know. I said they'd REACH the wildling camp this chapter, but I'm a filthy goddamn liar okay?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Ygritte is going to show up next chapter as well as Drysda and lots of other new people.


	10. Welcoming Wildlings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lya has a change of heart about her situation and Tormund decides to introduce her to a good(?) role model.

Lyarra was groggy the next morning as they packed up their camp in the early hours, just the sun peeked over the mountains. She yawned and pulled her fur around herself. She hadn’t had it the night before she thought, but was grateful for the added layer. If someone tried to take it from her she would definitely stab them. She hadn’t been warm since they came over the wall, and she was not about to give that up. 

She’d managed to pocket a blade fashioned from stone that one of the women had given to her for skinning game. She turned the blade over in her hand, familiarizing herself with the feel and weight of it. She hadn’t really come up with any grand plan for when they reached the camp, so worst case scenario she’d have to fight.

Lya knew she couldn’t actually win, but it gave her peace of mind to have a weapon on hand.

A heavy hand clapped down on shoulder and threw her off balance for a moment. She recognized the deep throated laugh as Tormund’s.

“What is it?” She asked, too tired to hide her irritation. 

“You look tired.” He said jovially. He’d been up just as late as her if not later, yet he was as chipper as always.

“I am tired, Tormund.”

“Looking forward to an end to our travels together, Snow?” He asked. 

His tone was casual, but tense in a way that spoke of him trying to force it. 

She turned to face him as they walked for the first time since his approach.

“As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about that.” She said slowly.

Tormund’s eyes seemed to light up at that. “I can’t wait for this to be over.” She lied. 

Tormund’s shoulders slumped forward. 

He was surprisingly very easy to read. Lya found her curiosity growing. 

“Unless of course you had a reason for me being here?” She prompted. She tried not to get her hopes up, but it genuinely seemed that Tormund wanted to know if she wanted to stay by his side. She hadn’t even considered he might give her a choice one way or the other. He’d either taken her along this far for a reason or he was just going to abandon her once he was back home to fend for herself.

“Well not specifically, but I wouldn’t mind the company.” He said lightly. He was very pointedly not looking at her. 

“Well if you don’t need anything then I’m sure I’ll figure something out.” She stormed forward ahead of him. 

That was dumb. Tormund had essentially just offered what she’d wanted. He’d practically just said that if she wanted, she could stay with him. She could continue to rely on his protection for essentially nothing in return.

It was the best she could have hoped for, but she found herself ready to spit in his face at the offer. She was fuming.

Company? He wouldn’t mind her company? As if she wanted to keep him company. Besides he had Drysda and Munda and probably a dozen other girls to keep him company. 

She gripped her knife tightly under her fur wrap. She didn’t need to rely on him. 

If she did then none of the other wildlings would ever respect her. 

She’d be living at his mercy, by his good graces, just as she had lived by her father’s before.

Lyarra loved her father. She loved Winterfell. But they were only hers for so long as her father allowed it. She had no claim, no right to either. She did not truly belong at Winterfell anymore that she did among the wildlings. 

Here, among the wildlings, she could make her own claims though. People weren't entitled to things based on the status of their birth here. She could have things that were hers. She could take what she wanted so long as she was strong enough to hold onto it. 

That’s what it meant to be a wildling. 

She liked the sound of that.

The other wildlings seemed a bit softer toward her , whether because of her performance last night or just the fact that they were all happy to almost be home she wasn’t sure. Probably a bit of both.

She had felt so hopeless just the night before at the prospect of Tormund now wanting her, but now she almost giddy with the thought of carving her own life out in the wild, savage place among these wild and savage people. 

She did not need or want Tormund’s help. If Ashtor or any other man came close she’d slice their fingers from their hands. If that happened the wildlings would be more prone to respect her and make fun of Ashtor than to take any sort of action against her. She understood that much at least.

Though that may not be the case with all wildlings, she had seen enough to know it was the way this group seemed to live.

She could be strong. She was used to people looking down at her and being condescending. She could handle that. Unlike in Winterfell, though, she could earn their respect here. She could change the way people saw her. 

It was an exciting prospect. 

Mahor elbowed her in the shoulder. “You look excited. Going to set Giantsbane’s tent on fire tonight?”

Lya actually let herself laugh at that. Mahor seemed to be one of the other wildlings in the group that commanded respect. Though he looked a bit older than Tormund did, Lya knew he was a very capable fighter from watching him in several of the impromptu brawls that had taken place during the journey. 

“I thought I might wait and see.” 

Mahor chuckled dryly. “You’ll be alright, Snow.” He said. “Just don’t be afraid to stab anyone again if you have to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She replied. 

Tormund frowned at Snow’s back. She was chatting away to Mahor and giggling like a southron maiden. 

His frown deepened upon the realization that she technically was a southron maiden. 

He was genuinely surprised she’d turned him down, though he couldn’t say he didn’t understand it. She was finally starting to win favor with some of the other wildlings, and probably wanted to make it on her own. 

That didn’t stop him from feeling a bit wounded at the rejection or from being worried about her. She was a tough girl, but she was still little more than a girl. Though he could think of at least one other girl about her age that had a good handle on herself. 

He grinned at the thought and resolved himself to introduce them as soon as he could. 

 

The group wound up reaching the encampment by midday. Several wildling shouted and broke into runs as they tore between wooden huts and leather tents, crashing happily into loved ones. 

Lya felt an ache for her own family at the sight of so many reunions. She stood on the edge of the camp as the wildlings gushed forward to greet the returning party. 

She felt awkward and shuffled from one foot to another. She had no one waiting for her here. She had no one to embrace or greet her. She had no one at all. 

She saw Tormund’s back disappear into the line of tents felt her heart sink a little. 

He didn’t care what she did or what happened to her after all. 

Lya sighed, feeling frustrated with herself. She wanted to make her own place here without Tormund’s help, so why should it bother her so much that he didn’t care? Maybe because he was the one who dragged her into this in the first place. She wasn’t sure. 

“Snow!” Tormund’s voice bellowed easily over the noise of the other wildlings. Her head snapped up to catch him waving with both arms from behind several others.

She was running towards him without thinking about it.   
“Snow!” He greeted as she pushed past a group of boys to reach him. There was a young woman with hair as red ad Tormund’s standing next to him. 

Was this Drysda? Or Munda? Or maybe some other woman he hadn’t mentioned before?

“This is Ygritte!” He announced slapping her on the back roughly. Lya winced, but Ygritte seemed unaffected. 

She shot Tormund a withering look before turning her gaze to Lya.

“You don’ look much like a snow spirit.” She drawled. She walked slowly around her and Lya thought of a predator circling its’ prey. 

“I’m not.” She said, straightening her back. She didn’t want to be intimidated. 

“Then tell me, Snow. What are you?” Ygritte asked, stepping in close so that her nose nearly bumped into Lya’s. 

Lyarra clutched her knife tightly.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She said, refusing to be the first to look away from the taller girl’s eyes. 

Ygritte tossed her head back and cackled loudly.

“Aye, that’s perfect. I like this one!” She called back to Tormund. 

Tormund just seemed to stand there grinning madly. “I thought you would. I’ll leave her to you then. Don’t let her kill you, Snow!” He called to Lya as he turned away.

Lya wasn’t entirely sure what just happened, but she supposed it would be good to have another girl around. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what exactly is going to happen with Ygritte and Lya from here on? And who the hell are Drysda and Munda? I swear I have the answers to like maybe one and a half of those questions!   
> Let me know if you guys like this and what you want to see next chapter! Should I jump forward chronologically or keep the steady forward march? Any specific character POVs you want?


	11. Ygritte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ygritte spends the evening with Snow and decides she might like having a little sister. Lya meanwhile has never been anyone's little sister. She's rather unused to it.

Ygritte heard the shouting first and immediately knew the raiding party had returned. They’d been gone longer than expected. She was a bit irritated by the thought. She had tried to convince Mahor and Tormund that she was old enough to join them but both had soundly rejected her. She wanted to cut their balls off. 

It wasn’t right that she couldn’t go along. She was three and ten years and she knew that was older than Tormund had been on his first raiding party. 

As the thought went through her mind to maybe sew the knees of his trousers together in his sleep the big lug came bumbling out from a nearby line of sheepskin tents with a crazed glint in his eyes and his teeth bared in a wide grin. He tackled her into a hug and had Ygritte not been prepared for it she might've had the breath knocked clear from her lungs.

She smacked him until he released her, and Ygritte took a swift step away from him. She was loathe to ask how the raid had gone. Surely he would rub in her face that she had been left behind. Deciding she would simply smack him silly if he did she opened her mouth to ask anyway. 

Tormund, being ever himself, interrupted her. “I’ve got a surprise for ya.”

Ygritte blinked at him a bit dumbly for a moment before quirking her head and giving him the most dubious look she could muster while having to cane her neck to make eye contact. 

 

“For me.” She repeated.

“Well, not fer you specifically, but you’ll ‘em.”

That got her attention. “You brought somebody back?” She started off walking in the direction of the ruckus at the edge of the camp where most all the rest of the wildlings were gathered.

Ashtor was near enough to have heard her question and called after her as Tormund rushed to keep up with her nimble steps through the crowd. “Giantsbane wrangles a snow spirit!”

Ygrittes eyes widened in disbelief. She knew Ashtor full of shit, but he wasn’t likely to say a thing like that if there wasn’t something interesting about them at least.

Tormund was looking a bit red in the face, and Ygritte felt giddy to think it wasn’t from the cold. 

They must be pretty.

The pair reached the edge of the bustling crowd, and Yrgitte started excitedly scanning for an unfamiliar face.Tormund seemed to catch sight of whoever they were looking for because he threw a hand up over his head and called out. “Snow!”

Ygritte looked in that direction but couldn’t see anyone new. Her brows scrunched together, half out of confusion and half out of irritation. 

She was about to snap at Tormund for making her feel a fool when a small, dark haired figure stumbled out of the ring of wildlings. 

Ygritte peered sideways at Tormund who simply beamed at the petite girl. 

He clapped his hand hard over her back and introduced her. 

She stared at him in disbelief. This wasn’t a snow spirit. This was a fucking child.

She turned her attention back to the girl.

“You don’ look much like a snow spirit.” She said. She was a bit disappointed and put no effort at all into hiding it as she sneered lightly at her.

She circled the girl slowly, her eyes trailing up and down her miniature form. 

She was practically a head shorter than Ygritte, and Ygritte was often told that she was small. Her face was round with pink cheeks that spoke obviously of the girl’s youth. Her clothes were fine and thin, far nicer than anything Ygritte would ever have need of and likely far from being warm enough in the chill of the North. Her hair was a deep black that contrasted the brown fur she clutched to her chest. She seemed fancy, Ygritte thought, with her shiny leather shoes and a soft, fine looking dress.

As Ygritte paced round her the girl straightened her back and glared into Ygritte’s eyes. 

“I’m not.” She said simply. 

“Then tell me, Snow. What are you?” Ygritte asked the spritely little girl. SHe stepped close into the girl’s personal space, breath fanning across the smaller girl’s cheeks.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She said.

Ygritte threw back her head and laughed out loud.

“Aye, that’s perfect. I like this one!” She told Tormund.

“I thought you would.” He boasted. 

Tormund turned away the next moment and called over his shoulder to each of them. “ I’ll leave her to you then. Don’t let her kill you, Snow!” 

Ygritte took a moment to understand what the oaf had just said. As soon as she understood she wasn’t sure if she was happy or pissed off about it. 

She looked back to the girl. 

“S’pose I call you Snow, yeah?”

The girl was staring in a bit of a daze in the direction Tormund had left them in. No doubt he was running off to find a warm body to keep him company. 

“Oi!” Ygritte smacked her in the arm, and she flinched back.

“What was that for?” She whined. Ygritte considered hitting her again.

“Listen to me when I’m talkin’ to you!”

Snow pouted and rubbed at the spot Ygritte had hit, but didn’t argue. 

Ygritte had always rather wanted a sister, so maybe this could be fun. 

“Come on then, Lady Snow.” She said, gripping the girl’s forearm and dragging her back over the the part of camp Ygritte had been in before. She had been carving arrows and wanted to finish before she had to go out to hunt the next day. She’d be losing light soon and didn’t much want to keep carving into the night. That would mean finding a fire, and the fires would be full of men and women returning from the raid and talking about it and Ygritte would certainly end up cutting someone if she had to hear about everything she’d missed out on. 

She plopped down onto the log she’d been sitting on and picked up her tools to get started where she left off. 

Snow shuffled awkwardly in place next to her.

And shuffled.

And breathed on her hands.

And twisted her hands together.

And shuffled some more.

Ygritte threw down her tools after several minutes of this and hissed. “What you standing ‘round for? Make yourself useful!”

“How?” Snow asked plainly. She wasn’t mocking her, Ygritte realized. She was genuinely asking for a task.

“Do you know how to carve?”

“No.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“No.”

“Pick up a knife.”

“I just said I don’t-”

“You’ll learn.” Ygritte cut her off. “Just do as I do.”

“As if it’s that simple.” She heard Snow mutter. The girl sat cross legged in to snow and started working regardless with a knife she pulled out of her own fur. 

Silence filled the space between them, nothing but the sounds of the camp settling back into work around them and the slicing sound of wood between them. 

As dusk fell over them, the orange lights of fires blooming to life around the camp, Ygritte began to pack her tools. She gave a content huff as she reviewed her work of the last few hours before turning her attention to the small bunch of arrows Snow had managed. 

Ygritte hadn’t expected many, but she felt a bit baffled at the scarce handful laying in the snow next to the girl.

“That’s all you’ve done?”

“I? Um-” Snow stuttered, looking up from her task and looking around before her eyes settled on her own arrows. “Yes?’

Ygritte sighed. “Useless.”

Snow seemed to take offense because she quickly scooped up her measly number of arrows and tried to defend them. “I thought I was doing rather well!” She cried. 

The whine in her voice made Ygritte think clearly of a wee child pitching a tantrum.

“How old are you?”

“I’m ten!” She screeched, and Ygritte shook her head.

“Ten and you can’t even handle some criticism?” She asked point blank. 

Snow seemed caught off guard and stuttered her way through an attempt at self defense.

“Let me at least seem them.” Ygritte sighed, holding out her hand for the arrows. 

Snow pouted at her and fixed her with a glare but handed them over anyway.

“I thought I was doing rather well.” She mumbled again.

Ygritte looked down at the arrows in her hand and for several seconds wasn’t sure what she was seeing. 

Each arrow was a little bit different. One was carved too thin and would likely snap on a bow, another was far too think. Another was horribly unbalanced and would never fly straight. A few of the others were salvageable, but none of that was what baffled her. 

No. The strange thing was that each and every one of the arrows was fitted with intricate decorative carving along their length. The workmanship was clumsy and unskilled, but beautiful and elegant all the same. 

“You’ve never carved before?” Ygritte asked without looking away from the arrows resting in her palm. 

In front of her Ygritte could see Snow give a nervous nod. 

“I did it wrong, didn’t I?” She guessed, sounding utterly dejected.

“Aye, you did it amazingly wrong.” Ygritte told her. She lifted her head to appraise the girl again. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Huh?” Lya looked off put by the question. She shrugged with one shoulder. “I suppose it was fun. It would be nice if they were actually useable.”

Ygritte grinned and pulled her little Snow away, arrows clutched tight in one hand.

She walked her straight over to Nel, who had already settled himself by one of the roaring fires with a horn full of something that smelled awful. 

He grumbled about being pulled away from the warmth and companionship the fire offered but quieted once Ygritte shoved the arrows into his hands. He took a moment to sober up before holding them up to inspect them better in the light of the flames.

“I’ve got you a student.” Ygritte said, feeling smug. 

“Whose this student now, you? I’ve seen your carvings and you may as well have a block of wood fer hands.” He said, taking a swig of his drink. Ygritte pulled Snow out from where the girl was hovering nervously behind her. 

“This is Snow. Tormund found her down South. Said she ain’t ever carved before.”

Nel glanced away from the arrows only for a moment to look at Snow before he focused back in.

“You got no training?”

“I drew some. Pictures, I mean, but I never carved anything before.” Snow said, eyes fixed on her feet.

Nel nodded before clapping a hand over her shoulder. “You can come find me tomorrow and I’ll show you a thing or two with blade, yeah?” He said with a grin. 

Snow nodded mutely and then Nel was gone, stumbling back toward the light of the fire.

“Are you all just going to keep passing me around to each other then?” Snow asked rather pointedly. 

“Passing? No, don’ be daft. Tormund said i could have you, so yer mine. But Nel’s the best man I know with a knife in his hand. Don’ matter if he’s carving wood or bone or flesh. Looks like you’ve got a knack for using that toothpick of yours. Yer arrows may not fly straight, but they’re pretty to look at.” Ygritte explained simple.

Snow cocked her head to the side as if she was trying to solve a great mystery and the answer was somewhere on Ygritte’s own face. Her gaze was a bit unnerving in the light of the fire as the flames reflected in her eyes and Ygritte could have sworn for a moment they were purple. Then that moment passed and she assured herself Snow’s eyes were the same drab gray they had been before. Damn the fire for playing tricks on her. 

That night as most of the other free folk gathered around the fires for stories of the southern raid, Ygritte and Snow curled together under a sheep skin tarp to hide from the biting wind. Ygritte dreamed of fierce storms and bloody battles while Lya dreamed of home and of Robb. 

Somewhere in the distance a lost wolf howled for it’s pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Next chapter should be easing into a time jump, so look forward to that. I think I'll probably introduce Drysda and Munda, too. If it isn't obvious from her name, Munda is Tormund's daughter btw. She's sassy and Tormund hates it Lya's going to adore her. OH! And sorry for typos and shit. It's slightly irritating to keep calling her Snow, but I promise she's going to tell them her real name soon. 
> 
> Exciting personal news! I'm looking to adopt a cat! Super pumped. I have one cat whose 19 years old. She's a black short hair named Ebony. Looking forward to bringing a kitten home.


	12. Munda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lya's getting settled in and trying to adjust to some of the changes between Winterfell and the True North.

Weeks passed by quickly for Lya once she’d arrived at the camp. Most of her time was spent with Ygritte, and when not in the company of the crude redhead Lya typically found herself with a blade in her hands.

Lya frowned down at said hands. They would never be soft like a ladies’ hands ought to be again. She had a nasty blister on the heel of her palm and her fingers were raw from use. 

She loved it, of course. The feeling of a carving knife in her hand, so different from the knife she’d gotten for her birthday back at WInterfell, was an odd comfort. She didn’t even have to think about how to hold it properly anymore. 

Nel would give her materials and instructions, and Lya would work. Occasionally she would ask for guidance or if something was this way or that, but mostly she just worked. When she finished Nel would appraise it. 

He was not one to give praise. Typically a simple nod was the closest he’d come to actually complimenting anything she did, and even that was rare. Mostly he insulted her. Lya told herself she wouldn’t have put up with it this long if she weren’t getting so much better so quickly. 

A large part of it, she knew, was the constant practice. Even when she and Ygritte ate together, Lya held her carving knife fast. The curved blade felt right to her, and Nels’ gruff criticisms bounced around inside her head. She found herself itching to carve into something constantly and had begun to despise having her hands left idle.

It helped that the work kept her mind from wandering, too. 

Between Ygritte’s constant string of chatter and Nel’s assignments, Lya was too busy to be homesick most of the time.

When she did feel homesick she would drop whatever she was doing and play with the children. They reminded her of her younger siblings back at Winterfell. She’d likely never see them again, but she found comfort in playing with the wee wildlings. Their games were a bit different, their language foul, and their play was brutish, but for all that they were still very much children. They still loved being chased or having Lya tell them stories. There was a comfort she found in caring for them. 

The other wildlings didn't like it one bit. Not that they stopped her. Ygritte or Tormund were always hovering not too far, ready to defend her if need be.

Part of the joy was pissing off those who didn’t want a Southron like her around their kids anyway. She’d taken to teaching the little ones games that she and Robb and Sansa used to play. Despite how any of the adults felt about her, all the children adored her, and Lya was content to bask in that. 

She often got roped into chores around camp as well like preparing meals, gathering firewood, stitching and mending tents and clothing. 

For the most part Lya could do as she liked around the camp, but she wasn’t allowed to leave it. 

It was a lonely thought.

She did not get to see Tormund often either. She would not under any circumstances admit to missing the goofy giant’s company, but she could admit to feeling a bit dejected that he did not drop in on her more often. 

“Crawling back between someone’s thighs, I’ll bet.” Ygritte chided as they sat by a small fire of their own making. 

Lya was trying to carve a ladle from a strip of pale bark, but her finger slipped, slicing into her thumb. She dropped the half shaped utensil into the snow at her feet and cursed.

Ygritte raised a brow at her but said nothing. 

Lya glared at her thumb, squeezing the pad between her index finger and thumb of her other hand. She watched the blood bead up until the weight of it finally dragged the drop down the side of her thumb to drip into the snow beneath her. 

Ygritte rose to sit next to her a second later, settling hip to hip with the younger girl. She took Lya’s wrist and brought her thumb up to her mouth. Ygritte wrapped her lips around the bleeding digit and sucked.

Lya just watched her, oddly fascinated with the display.

After several long moments Ygritte released her thumb with a pop and dropped her hold on Lya’s wrist.

Lyarra stared at her thumb. She could see the red line on her skin where her blade had cut, but it was no longer bleeding. Lya simply hummed her appreciation before picking up her project to resume her efforts.

The two girls fell back into an easy silence until Lya broke it. “Does Tormund really sleep around that much?” 

She immediately regretted giving her curiosity a voice. She felt her cheeks warm, and hoped Ygritte wouldn’t notice.

“Not sure. By Southron standards, I reckon he gets ‘round plenty. Though he’s got his favorites.” 

“Like Drysda and Munda?” Lya hated how young her voice sounded even to herself. She hated that she felt like a child. She hated that she was a child.

Ygritte snickered. “Oh, aye. Drysda’s a favorite o’ his, but I’d be might concerned if he was bedding Munda.”

Lya looked to the older girl with confusion.

“Ye’ve met Munda, y’know?” Ygritte told her. She looked like she was waiting for Lya to realize something, but Lya didn’t know what she was meant to realize. 

After a moment Ygritte simply rolled her eyes. “Lil’ bairn? Big red curls? ‘Bout ye high?” She moved her hands around as a visual aid while she spoke.

Lya gave a little gasp as the image registered in her mind. “That little one with the two missing front teeth?” 

“Aye, that’s the one.” Ygritte cheered, patting Lya on the back lightly. 

“She’s his daughter?” The thought left her breathless. 

Now that she knew, it seemed strange she hadn’t drawn the connection earlier. 

Munda was a frizzy haired ginger with freckles over every inch of her milky skin who hung on every word Lya said. She couldn’t be older than Bran; she was just a little thing that liked to pretend she was a princess from one of Lya’s stories. 

“Than is Drysda her mother?” Lya asked. She was far too curious now to stop herself.

“No, she ain’t. Munda’s ma’s name is Frae. Mean hag that she is, I’m not sure how she had such a sweet daughter.” Ygritte said nonchalantly as she stretched back until Lya could hear joints popping. 

Lya frowned at the noise. Ygritte knew she hated it.

“I don’t think I’ve met her.”

“You’d know if ye had, I promise.” Ygritte shot back. “She’s a mountainous brute of a woman if ye ask me. More bear than person. About as friendly as one, too.”

Lya stopped carving as she thought about that. Munda was such a sweet girl; it was difficult to picture her being raised by someone who wasn’t kind, too.

Then again, if Tormund was her father it would explain the girl’s sense of whimsy and the careless way she fought and played. It often seemed the girl thought that nothing in the world could break her. She was completely without fear of pain or injury, so much so that Lya worried about her often during their games with the other wildling children. 

When she lifted her head to ask another question she was met with Ygritte’s icy blue eyes and crooked grin far closer than they had a right to be. 

The wild girl had no sense of propriety or manners at all, though it didn’t typically bother Lya so much as it caught her off guard.

Lya’s question fell from her mind as Ygritte’s breath, strong with the smell of burnt rabbit, fanned over her face. Lya shoved her away roughly as her stomach ached. 

She hadn’t eaten since morning. It wasn’t that the wildlings starver her or anything, just that everyone ate small amounts to ensure there was enough to go around. Those responsible for hunting the food got the largest shares next to children and waiting mothers. Lya was not any of those things.

“I’m hungry.” She said, standing up and brushing snow from her pants. 

She took her ladle and the knife handle she’d made earlier that day with her as she walked away to find Nel. If she gave him the finished work and he liked it, she might be able to ask for some food. Nel kept most of her work for his own benefit. She couldn't complain when she was using his materials, and not always able to make anything of worth with them. When she did something well he sometimes gave her a reward. In the past he'd gifted her a carving knife of her own, a squirrel pelt that Ygritte helped her to make into gloves, and dried meat.

She was hoping for the latter.

It was very different than what she had grown up with. Food was something that had to be earned and traded for among the wildlings. Gold or titles were meaningless here. What good could gold or honor do a person if they were cold or hungry?

Nel was laughing along with Ashtor and a few other faces Lya vaguely recognized. His arm was slung over a young girl, maybe just a year or two older than Lya herself. 

“I finished the knife handle.” Lya tossed it to him without waiting to be acknowledged. 

That was also different from Winterfell in so many ways. 

No one ever ignored her there, no one but Lady Catelyn. Even Theon couldn’t ignore her. He could be cruel to her, but he couldn’t pretend she didn’t exist. She may have been a bastard, but she was the Lord’s daughter all the same.

Here she was just Snow, and she was as noticeable as her namesake that scattered and blew across so much of the True North. 

Nel caught it without turning his head or giving any sign he’d heard her speak. He examined the piece of wood carefully for several long seconds, turning it over in his hands and holding it up to the fire light. Nel scoffed and shoved the handle into one if his layered furs.

“Come find me t’morrow, and I’ll show ye how to add the blade to the handle proper.” With that Nel took a swig of his grog with one hand and groped at the girl’s breasts through her pelts. She gave an excited shriek, and Lya turned her head away. She knew it was tame by wildling standards, but it made her blush regardless. 

Lya tried to will herself to ask him for food, after all if was going to add the blade he must like the handle she'd made, but then she thought of her father’s stern face, the square set of his jaw, and her request died in her throat. 

Ned Stark was honorable and proud, and she was his daughter even without his name. 

Pride wouldn’t fill her belly, but her father’s disappointment would just as likely kill her. 

Lya trudged away from the flickering firelight. Ygritte didn’t have any spare rations, she knew. 

At least she had something to look forward to the next day with Nel showing her how to fit the handle to the blade. 

Still, her stomach protested painfully. 

She was used to being fed far more than the wildlings seemed to live on, but it was embarrassing to admit. 

She walked to one of the communal fires and glared at the flames as if they were responsible for her empty belly. 

They danced on just to spite her. 

Still, it was difficult not to enjoy their warmth. No one else had settled around the firepit yet, so Lya sidled closer and watched the fires flare and flicker teasingly. Like they were beckoning to her.

"Yer sittin' a wee bit too close there."

She turned her face away from the warmth and grimaced as her face met the chilled air.

Tormund stood several steps behind her, watching her. 

He looked odd, uneasy.

"What?" She asked. She hadn't heard him, so lost in her own thoughts. 

"Yer gonna set yerself on fire sittin' that close." He said slowly, one hand reaching for her.

Lya blinked once, slowly. 

Lya turned back toward the fire and realized she was standing barely a foot from the roaring blaze.  
She didn't remember getting this close. 

The heat should have itched, but it didn't. She took several steps back anyway, more baffled than concerned. 

Tormund grabbed her arm roughly to pull her further back still from the flames.

"You alright, Snow?" His voice was wary.

"'M fine." 

When Tormund didn't she turned around to meet his gaze. 

He was looking at her very dubiously.

"Oh, what is it? Worried I was going to climb the pyre? I'm hungry, not suicidal." She yanked her arm from his grip.

Tormund relaxed visibly and not a moment later he gave her an easy grin.

"Hungry?"

Lya felt herself blush. She hadn't wanted to say anything.

"Oh, do shut up. I'm a hungry Southron girl who can't earn her keep. You don't need to rub it in."

Tormund's smile softened.

"I've got some extra." He told her with a complete lack of his typical teasing tone.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she considered.

Tormund was massive, and she'd seen him eat enough to feed her whole family in one sitting. 

There was no way he actually had extra food that he didn't want to eat, prominent hunter or not. 

One small nudge in the form of belly giving a meager growl was enough for her to concede.

"If you don't mind."

Tormund's smile erupted across his face again. 

Lya found herself smiling back immediately as he led the way. His energy was contagious.

Lya wondered what sort of food he had. 

Once they reached his tent Tormund pulled the flap open for her, and Lya laughed before dipping into a lopsided curtsy.

Tormund barked in reply, likely finding humor in the idea of anyone curtsying to him instead of at how poor her form was.

He'd likely never seen anyone curtsy before at all, proper form or not.

Once Lya stepped inside and looked around her smile faltered.

There, sitting on the ground in the center of the tent, was Munda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! I'M NOT DEAD!
> 
> Got ya!  
> Personal note: I got a new bird instead of a kitten. They are an about 7 month old rose-breasted cockatoo (or a galah). Real sweetie, likes chewing on my bra straps.
> 
> Anywho, this chapter doesn't really have a point, but next chapter will be Lya and Munda bonding! Yay?? I hope? I would have given it to you in this chapter, but it was getting long.  
> And yeah, Tormund 100% thought Lya was about to jump onto the fire. She was having a Targaryen Moment (tm).
> 
> Also think I'm going to jump forward after this next chapter, now that I've gotten her sort of established with the Wildlings and everything. That's where I wanted to get her. With the wildlings, growing, learning, meeting people. So now that she's there I can move around with some more freedom.
> 
> Comments and Kudos, please! I beg of you!


	13. Little Lya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyarra talks about her old family in an effort to gain a new one.

Munda was braiding twine together, likely trying to weave a basket of some sort. The girl was utterly consumed with her task, not looking up for a moment even as Tormund slipped into the tent behind Lyarra.

She hadn't moved more than a step from the entrance, leaving Tormund to stand awkwardly behind her.

After a beat of tension Tormund cleared his throat, at once reminding Lya he was there and calling Munda’s attention away from her weaving.

“Daddy!” She cried, abandoning her work and running to him.

Lya stepped out of the way just as Tormund stooped low to lift the girl up with a laugh.

“And what are you doing here, little one?”

“Mama was shouting, and I didn’t like it, so I left.” Munda said simply.

“Let yerself in, eh?”

Munda nodded proudly before her eyes dart to Lya, standing off to the side.

When Lya’s blue eyes met hers, Lya looked away.

She was embarrassed. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like she’d been caught doing something wrong. 

“Should I go?” Munda asked innocently. 

Tormund lifted his brow, and Munda elaborated. “Since you have company.” She said, nodding toward Lya.

“No!” Lya shrieked as Tormund burst into laughter so emphatically he had to put his daughter down.

“I’m not- we’re NOT-” Lya fumbled helplessly to get words out- because no. No. That was not what she was here for.

“She’s just here to share a meal.” Tormund managed once his laughter had died down. He turned to look at Lya as if for confirmation.

“Yes. A meal.” Lya said, willing the red from her face. This was humiliating. Munda was about the same age as Bran; she shouldn’t even know about that sort of thing as far as Lya was concerned.

“Would you like to join us?” Tormund asked.

“Yes, yes!” Munda cheered.

Just like that Lya found herself settling down on the ground next to Munda and her twine basket while Tormund pulled out some dried meat he had hidden somewhere.

Initially, Lya thought that was strange, but with how much wildlings stole from each other on the road, maybe it made sense. 

Lya wouldn’t be able to hide anything because she and Ygritte didn’t have an actual tent, so much as a pile of furs by the fallen tree they usually sat by.

Ygritte, she knew, kept anything of great value on her person, and Lya had been doing the same. For now it was just her carving knife and the thick pelt she’d found on the journey beyond the Wall, which was heavier than was necessary most days, but Lya feared if she set it down, another wildling would claim it as easily as she had done. 

Tormund’s tent was insulated with some pelts and, as Lya looked around, she found the small space rather homey. There was a makeshift cot with a pile of various pelts and furs, a myriad of tools and weapons played out across the ground, two chests, and an extra pair of boots tossed into the corner. 

Dozens of little signs about the person who lived here. Lya thought of Sansa’s room, filled with neatly folded fabric and spools of thread, her night table covered with hairbrushes and combs and dolls lined up along her windowsill.

She smiled at the thought.

She and Sansa had spent hours in her room, brushing each other’s hair, singing each other songs. Lya would read her little sister stories while the younger girl embroidered and sewed. 

She missed her fanciful little sister who liked stories of handsome knights and refused to misbehave beyond sneaking out of bed at night to spend time with her. She missed Robb and Theon and how they would goad her into doing all sorts of things that would get every last one of them in trouble. She missed Arya sneaking onto the training yard, and Bran fumbling up the walls after her at just 4 years old. 

She missed her father. 

Lya watched as Tormund gave a small portion to Munda and ruffled her hair.

Lya ached at the sight.

Tormund reached out to offer her a portion to herself, and she accepted gratefully. Lya chewed absently as Tormund spoke, telling some sort of story, but she wasn’t listening.

She missed her family.

“Snow?” 

“Huh?” Lyarra blinked rapidly, tuning back into the moment. “Yes?”

“Could you tell me another story? You tell the best stories.” Munda waited expectantly.

“I thought my story was good.” Tormund grumbled, and Lya felt bad for not listening.

“But I’ve heard all your stories already.” Munda whined.

Lyarra snorted, and both gingers turned to look at her with the sound.

“Children are- uh…” Lya felt herself flush. The sound she’d made had been undignified and Sansa would have gone off on an absolute tirade about edicate, especially seeing as she was a guest in Tormund’s home. “Children are the same in the North and the South.” She shrugged. 

She chose to ignore that she had just referred to her family as Southron. 

Tormund smiled. 

“Do you have children in the South?” Munda asked.

“Me? Oh, no. I’m far too young, butI- I have brothers and sisters, a little older than you.”

“Really? Can you tell me about them?” Munda slid over close to her, eyes sparkling. 

“I-” Lya’s eyes found Tormund’s, searching for an answer to a question she didn’t know. 

He held her gaze steadily. 

“I have a brother, Robb. He’s the same age as me.” She starts. She waits to see if Tormund has any reaction to the name, but he just sits and waits for her to go on. 

He already knows she is a bastard, now he knows she had a brother named Robb. 

How much knowledge is too much? How much before she endangers her family or herself? 

She trusts Tormund, but how much should she trust him?

“Are you two twins, then?” Munda asks.

“No. We are brother and sister, and we are the same age, but we are not twins.” Munda’s brow creased in confusion.

“It’s because we don’t share a mother. His father is my father, but his mother is not.” She explained gently, looking down at her lap.

“Oh, well that happens all the time here.” Munda says easily, and it’s such a small thing, but Lya laughs a broken laugh and bites it off before it can be recognized as a sob.

Instead she smiles and says, “It doesn’t happen very often where I’m from. Men are only supposed to have children with their wives down there. They swear oaths to only ever be with that one woman, and to break that oath is a terrible thing. That’s how I was born.”

Lya looked up from her folded hands in her lap to see Munda looking at her with her clear blue eyes. 

“I’m sorry your dad did that. Does that mean you don’t all get along?”

Lya chuckled. It was so new and refreshing, how little her bastardry meant here. 

“Not at all. I got along rather well with all my siblings. Robb is the eldest. Then there’s Sansa, she’s 8 years old, the Arya, who is 6, and then Brandon, who is 4. Want to know something surprising?”

“Yes!” 

“Robb, Sansa, and Bran all have red hair and blue eyes, like you. Arya is my only sibling that shares my coloring. We look very much alike, everyone says so.” Lya shared. She’d always been silently proud of that. 

It was petty, but she had to take pride where she could, and having the Stark look was something she could and should be proud of. She had the same dark hair and fair complexion as her father and Uncle Benjen, and she knew it was something Lady Catelyn resented. 

It had been a great relief to the Tully woman that her third child at last had their father’s and House’s look. 

Though Lady Stark had not appreciated the constant remarks and observations exclaiming how Arya looked like Lya had at her age. She herself had always been compared to her dead Aunt Lyanna in hushed whispers.

Lyarra wasn’t sure if being compared to a bastard was better or worse than being compared to a ghost.

Maybe there wasn’t a difference at all. It had been so long, everyone likely thought she was dead.

Maybe Arya would feel she was being compared to Lyarra’s ghost.

The thought unsettled her.

“Like me? Oh! Are they royalty?” Munda flooded the open air with questions.

“Not all families South of the Wall are royalty. The royal family live much further South than mine, though I don’t think any of them have your colors. Sansa wishes she were a princess. I think she fancies that she’ll marry the Prince and be Queen someday, though I don’t think it likely.”

She’s saying too much, she knows. She has already said far too much.She glances back up to Tormund, but he looks as at ease as ever, his eyes alone seem vigilant, discerning. 

She needs to stop talking, but she’s afraid to. 

She needs to tell someone about them or she’ll forget. She doesn’t want to forget. More than that, she needs to build trust with people here. 

So Munda asks her questions, and Lyarra answers. 

She tells her about her home, about the Godswood, about Robb’s slimy friend, and her father’s stoicism. She does not say Stark, or Winterfell, or Greyjoy, does not refer to her father as Lord or to his wife as Lady. She tiptoes around these details, but knows that even without them she has already spelled out who she is to anyone who knows enough. 

She is not sure that Tormund does, but she knows others in the camp would. 

She quells her fear in favor of basking in her memories, though. 

Munda is an avid and engaged listener, and Lya relishes in sharing her family, her identity, with the girl. 

She feels a rush of calm and security in telling Tormund, too. Though her eyes stay on Munda she does not forget he’s there, listening, absorbing. They will have to talk about everything she had said, she knows, but she wants to trust him. 

She wants to trust Ygritte, too, eventually. 

Small steps. 

She was making a home for herself here, and homes were built on foundations. She was building her foundation with Tormund here, now. She wanted him to be her friend, to trust her the way she was quickly coming to trust him. 

She wanted to build something here, but she would carve out a place for her past, too. 

Lyarra refused to forget where she came from.

Hours slid by like that until Munda’s eyes began to droop, and Tormund insisted she settle in for the night. 

Lya wondered if she ought to head back to Ygritte’s spot.

She wasn’t sure if the older girl would find her absence alarming or just shrug it off.

Probably the latter. 

“Thas’ a lot of siblings.” Tormund remarked as they exited his tent so as not to wake Munda.

“I suppose, but I imagine it’s more typical here.” She said.

“Oh, aye. Lots of big families, but a lot of wee ones don’t make it up here.”

Lya thinks breifly of Lady Catelyn’s miscarriage, but keeps it to herself. She doesn’t think it’s the sort of thing anyone would appreciate having shared with strangers.

“I almost died, a few years ago.” She said instead. Better her past than Lady Catelyn’s loss.

Tormund lead them towards one of the fires, surrounded by drunk wildlings and the smell of alcohol. Though not as boisterous as when Lya arrived after the raiding party made it back, there was typically at least a dozen or so having fun and telling stories each night. 

She went on. “I got the pox. If I weren’t born to the family I was, I might’ve died. The maester doubted I’d make it regardless.”

The thought frightens her looking back. 

How close she was to death, how vulnerable. 

“I fought through it, somehow, but I think if I’d been born here I would have died.”

“You might’ve.” Tormund acknowledges thoughtfully. “Glad you didn’t.”

“Me, too.” She says quietly as they settle down a little further from the warmth than Lya might like. 

“So?” She asked after a few minutes of silence between them.

“So what?”

“Don’t you want to know?” She searched his face. She knew that he knew she wasn’t just any bastard now. 

“My family name?” She asked in a whisper.

Tormund looked to the fire, then upto the stars, pondering. 

Did he want to know? He glanced back to Snow. 

She looked so distraught. She feared his answer no matter what it was.

“I’d settle for your name.” He confessed with a half hearted shrug. 

She threw her head back and laughed. 

Lya could feel tears springing to her eyes as she absolutely cackled, earning a few curious looks from the wildling around the fire.

Tormund sat there next to her smiling and waiting.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and met his gaze. “My name’s Lyarra.”

“Lyarra.” He repeated. “”Sounds like a fancy name.”

“It was my grandmother’s name.” She said. “Robb and Sansa and just about everyone called me Lya. Everyone but Father. And his wife, she always just called me ‘girl’.” Lya laughed lightly.

She never thought Lady Catelyn’s disdain for her was something she would be able to laugh about without aching over. 

She had wanted the woman to be her mother, but looking back, Lady Catelyn had never been interested in mothering her husband’s bastard.

It was a bitter fact, but nothing Lya did could have endeared the woman to her.   
“Little Lya Snow.” Tormund said again. “I’d say that suits you.”

“I’m not that little! Don’t add that to my name!” She punched his arm, hard as she could, though it didn't seem to matter much for all he was affected by it.

Tormund laughed, “No, Little Lya, don’t be mad!”

She laughed and swatted him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Half of this was written when I posted that last chapter, but yeah it was getting long for one of my chapters, so I split them up. I want to jump somewhere from here, maybe to the general future, maybe back to Winterfell, maybe back to that first chapter. We'll see. 
> 
> Just to be clear I figure this is like four or five months from when she was taken? You figure the actual travel must have taken a few weeks at least (Climbing the wall is like a 2 day endeavor for each side or something?), and then Lya's been at the camp a while, so this isn't like, just a few days later. It is weeks, maybe a couple of months after she arrived to the camp. So time enough to acclimate and start to come to terms with this being where she lives now. She wants to make a life, not just survive in the hopes of eventual rescue. Though her loyalties at this point are still very much to Winterfell and the Starks. Like if Benjen showed up at this point she'd be outta there. (She might feel bad about it but she would definitely go home.)
> 
> Kudos and comments are my fuel! Let me know where or when you want to see the next chapter head.

**Author's Note:**

> The summary makes it sound like there's a plot and I swear to you there is not. I mean I have a vague story in mind, but mostly I just wanted to write this nonsense. This is just drabble because YO JONMUND ENDGAME WHO THE FUCK SAW THAT COMING?!!
> 
> Anywho this is very much just self indulgent crack.
> 
> I'm clinging to this pairing because it's the one good thing that came out of that finale.  
> Let me know what you think and if You'd like more of this!


End file.
